Total Drama: Children of the Overrealm
by Obsidios
Summary: You have awoken in a world that is far away from your own. A scarf defines your allegiance, an animal defines your identity. Now all denizens of the mysterious Overrealm, nineteen new contestants will duke it out in a new competition that defies both real
1. The Invitation

**Here are your only rules:**

**1. If you are accepted and you do not review, I will immediately assume you aren't reading and will therefore not mind if I eliminate your character.**

**2. I WILL NOT accept the following stereotypes: Punk-Rocker or Bad Boy. Rebels are fine, but the society in which the story takes place doesn't tolerate the whole "Bad Boy/Girl" image.**

**3. I will not accept a character with a perfect build. Bulging pecks and enormous busts are hard to come by in this society. Again, nothing wrong with being muscular or well-developed, but please be reasonable.**

**4. While this story seems very imaginative, I will need believable characters with real flaws and real insecurities. Try to be as balanced as you can.**

**5. To let me know that you've read these rules, send your application as a PM as well as a review. I won't accept you otherwise.**

**6. I will need 18 contestants. Be as diverse as possible. In fact, I recommend looking through other reviews before submitting a character so you know what to avoid.**

**Alright. That's everything, so here we go...**

* * *

When you finally slip into consciousness, all that you see is a great, unyielding darkness.

A robotic, monotonous voice emanates from somewhere in the black abyss.

"Subject has fully recovered. Commencing reawakening now. Welcome home."

A soft, comforting light greets you as you open your eyes for what feels like the very first time. A blast of warm, earthy air fills your lungs.

As your vision adjusts, the area around you shifts into focus. Looming above you is a great expanse of teal, jeweled with countless marigold clouds and illuminated by three circling suns. North of you is an enormous mountain range gilded with freshly-fallen snow. South of you is a shoreline of white sand that feeds into a shimmering ocean.

At your side, nudging you gently, in an animal unlike anything you've even seen before. Though it smiles, you see a look of warning in it's large, translucent eyes.

You're lying in great, marble enclosure that rivals the Roman Colosseum in both beauty and majesty. You take another deep whiff of the soothing, fresh-smelling soil around you as you stand, and it's only then that you notice the people filling the stands.

Wait. These things... Are they people?

Their skin is a uniform white and their bone structure makes them resemble artistic statues. Some have emerald-colored feathers where their eyebrows should be. Others have seemingly woven entire roses into their hair. All of them cheer and whoop and clap their hands with an astonishing ferocity.

There are other's around you, all of them looking as awed and as transcended as you feel. From nowhere, a voice whispers into your ear.

It doesn't tell you where you are or how you came to be there. In fact, it doesn't seem very assured of itself at all. It's asking you questions. It's asking you what you think you remember.

* * *

-Basic-

Name?:

Do you have a nickname? If so, what is it?:

Gender?:

Age?:

What is your stereotype? Don't be ashamed, we all have at least one.:

Explain your personality, please:

What singe adjective describes you best?:

-Physical-

Hair color and preferred style:

Eye shape and color:

Skin Color:

Height and Weight:

Build:

Scars of any kind: (You will be allowed to receive tattoo's later)

-Your Animal Companion-

_This creature will serve as your faithful guide throughout your experience. It's gender is the opposite of yours, but (like you) it is still young and not fully grown. It must large enough to be visible, but small enough to fit comfortably in your arms._

What animal does it resemble?:

What is it's personality:

What makes it physically different from other animals of its kind: (Does it have oddly colored fur? Gold horns?)

-Clothing-

_Choose ONE of the following scarves. It will define your status here. Don't immediately go for what sounds coolest to you. Choose the one that you honestly believe suits you best. I cannot stress the importance of this enough._

_Red and White. Bears the image of a black bird._

_Purple and Silver: Bears the image of a golden bird._

Using the colors from your scarf, design yourself an outfit:

* * *

The voice concludes it's interrogation and vanishes as quickly as it came. Some of the other teenagers near you wave triumphantly to the audience, others shrink back ever so slightly from the din that showers down over them. Black and golden sparks rain down from above.

The cheering grows ever louder.

* * *

What are you waiting for? Hurry up and apply, the Overrealm awaits.


	2. The Lights

All is dark.

If you're name is recorded, you have been chosen.

_Orion King_

_Emma Grayson_

_Kayla Farr_

_Alice Parimoch_

_Christopher Muller_

_Mark Young_

_Quentin Ace_

_Corey Walker_

_Louisa Conrad_

_Malorie Hall_

_Declan Banister_

_Margaret Hildreth_

_Charlotte Jones_

With each name, a spotlight from nowhere illuminates a contestant. They all stand still, their heads raised to face their collective public.

The cheering intensifies, the excitement crackles like electricity through the stadium. The onlookers have taken to clawing and tearing at their own skin in anticipation, spilling flecks of cyan-colored blood on the marble flooring.

Three figures remain in darkness, one female and two males, all that can be seen is the golden bird embroidered on their scarves. There are no blackbird scarves left.

The competition is about to begin.


	3. The Most Unholy of Beginnings

_**The following is all that could be deciphered of his final message to his assumed partner or lover. The rest has been destroyed.**_

_**The date is indiscernible**._

_...it is no longer curiosity that drives my hand, but unyielding fear. Fear of what I know is coming. My dearest Alicia, words cannot tell you how I regret not listening to you. How I wish to be at home, wrapped in your arms. But that is over, I dare say you and I will never meet again._

_I cannot stop myself. I have since accepted this damning torture of continuing my pursuit. I ask, therefore, that you forgive me for all that I've done. That you will remember me as I was, when I am gone._

_The world will know me soon, dear Alicia. They may know me as a hero, or perhaps as a monster. But they will know me._

_I am on the very brink of something incredible, and I am quickly approaching the edge of the border that separates men from eternity._

_I will see that barrier destroyed."_

_**The correspondence abruptly ends here. His ultimate fate and whereabouts remain unknown.**_

* * *

The stadium lit with boisterous screaming as the final lights come on.

From above, a throne descended in a shower of glistening confetti. Perched upon it was the obvious ruler of the land, resembling nothing less than the greatest of heavenly hosts. Raising his hands, he spoke with the voice comparable only to that of a seraph. "

I suppose there's no need for introduction, my beloved subjects, because surely all must know who I am. But, for formalities sake, I am Octavius Sulla Cielo, your three-hundredth king and host of this season. Now, without further ado, it is my great pleasure to introduce the cast of the very first Sangfestis!"

Someone standing outside of the city could have well thought an explosion had taken place in the stadium. Many of the onlookers began ripping their clothing in excitement.

"Emma Greyson."

"Declan Banister."

"Kayla Farr."

"Roberto Gonzalez."

"Margaret Hildreth."

"Malorie Hall."

"Mark Young."

"Louisa Conrad."

"Orion King."

"Christopher Muller."

"Quentin Ace."

"Corey Walker."

"Alice Perimoch."

"Charlotte Jones."

"Riri Voide"

Morgan Galigar."

"Kyle Enoc."

"Aaron Smith."

And, in a whirl of indescribable color, the motley band vanished into the night. The crowd continued to cheer.

Only now, it sounds different. No longer shouts of mirth, but rather shrieks of lustful want; akin to, for lack of a better term, wild animals that haven't been properly fed and demand more sustenance.

The aren't cheering anymore, they are actually screaming. For what purpose, even the hand that accounts it cannot say. They were screaming.

And they continued indefinitely even after the lights in the stadium went out, bathing the entire city in darkness.

Perhaps, if only the contestants could know what Cielo knew, know what was awaiting them, they would scream too.

But it mattered not; it was far too late for them all anyway.


	4. The City of Wanderers

**Month: 3. **

**Day: Presumed at 27. **

**7 winters after the Cataclysm.**

_"It's operational."_

_"I don't think that this is a good-"_

_"Well it is, boy, it is a good idea! Now, throw the switch."_

_"But sir-"_

_"Now!"_

* * *

**Location: Unspecified, Northeastern District of the Overrealm.**

**Date and Time: Day: 1, 13 minutes post-Awakening (PA)**

It was dark when Margaret Hildreth opened her eyes.

Everything around her was completely still, save for the shuffling behind her that she attributed to the distant wind. She was lying prone on what felt like concrete, her hands snaked around something that felt like chiffon. Through the haze in her vision, she could make out a golden swan embroidered in the thing's center.

She slowly drew herself to her feet, and as she did, the surrounding area seemed to awaken. The black sky became a steely gray, and ground around her, previously white, took on the color of papyrus. She appeared to be in some sort of city, though it looked as though it had been ripped out of an unfinished coloring book.

"Hey, you!" A harsh, male voice called to her. She whirled around.

"Who's there," she called to the empty streets, "I-I'm armed, consider yourself warned!"

"Pfft, don't take me for idiot, Maggie."

The owner of that voice was one she instantly recognized. How she knew it, she didn't know, but she knew it well nonetheless.

Christopher Muller stepped out from an alleyway, a taunting smile dancing upon his face. "Hello, Margaret."

"You know my name."

"And you know mine, I dare say. But we've never met before."

That was true. She knew Christopher Muller, but she had never seen him before in her life. But somehow, she knew him. And even stranger, she knew she did not like him.

Behind them, the ground began to dissipate as if the darkness were actually consuming it. Both if them had the sense to back away.

"Please tell me you remember something? How we got here?" Margaret stared at him, her eyes immediately finding the same scarf draped over his shoulder. Her fingers itched to claim it as her own, as they often did. Such was the life of a kleptomaniac like herself.

"Can't say I do," Christopher answered, shoulders thrown back nonchalantly. Margaret sighed and ran a hand through her short, chestnut hair, her eyes still trained on the identical swan stitched between the colors. "I woke up in that alley and saw you moving around.

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Finally, Margaret voiced what she'd been fearing. "I know there are others, and I don't think that they're friendly. We should stick together, look for answers. Or at least get out of here, yeah?"

"How do I know I can trust you," Christopher quipped, folding his arms and smirking. "Hell, how do you know you can trust me?"

Without a word, she reached out her hand for his, an olive branch clearly extended. "Shake on it?"

"Well... fine."

With that, the two began their trek down the colorless street, their gazes forced ahead. Neither of them paid any attention to the smiling, shadowed figure that watched them from the shadows. Whether or not they even saw her was anyone's guess.

Whether or not they knew that the other had their fingers crossed behind their backs, or that they each wore a rather devious smirk apiece, they didn't say. That was anyone's guess as well.

* * *

"Where'd you wake up?"

"Inside that abstract sculpture. I just kinda... started walking. Then I found you asleep on a bench, that's all I remember."

"Well, I'm glad you're the first thing I saw. I didn't think there was any beauty to be seen in this city."

Riri Voide rolled her eyes at that one. Whether or not her traveling companion of twelve minutes, Declan Banister, was telling the truth, she wasn't interested to know.

She didn't know why, but she certainly didn't trust him. Still, was nice enough to have a voice to answer her's back when she spoke. Other than a few green-and-black sparrows that flitted by their feet for a few minutes at a time, there didn't seem to be anyone else in the entire city. That made her feel, for the first time, quite nervous.

Declan began whistling a Celtic tune under his breath, annoying her further. How she already loathed his laid-back tone, his irritatingly casual stride that made it seem like they were enjoying a stroll rather than being pursued by some hellish fog that seemed to swallow entire buildings.

"I think we need to find our way to the city center. Maybe there's a directory or something there we can use."

"What if the Fog gets there first?" Declan whispered, motioning to the encroaching mass of inky blackness that trailed behind them, blurring the corners of the buildings that they'd passed.

"Well, we better keep moving unless you want to find out."

"Could we find a café or something? I could use some coffee."

"Caffeine is for the weak, and anyway, we don't have time for such stupid luxuries." Riri cut her eyes over to her companion, whose arms were positioned lazily behind his head.

"...I assume that's a 'no', then?"

Riri shook her head and pursed her lips. It was going to be a long walk.

* * *

"What if marshmallows had emotions?"

"This is your last chance to shut up."

"I'm just thinking out loud, Ms. Grumpy."

"She's being curious, Emma. There's nothing wrong with that."

Emma Grayson pressed her hands on her forehead, just _feeling_ the capillaries in her skull tightening. It was just her luck, she mused, that she would be stuck in an abandoned city with some guy named Quentin Ace, a revolutionist-wannabe, and Kayla Farr, who seemed to be blazed out of her mind at the moment. How had she even ended up with them? The only thing she remembered was waking up in a dried-up fountain near a rusty streetlamp. She didn't know what to do when she found Quentin, who promptly offered to be her bodyguard, and decided that there was no harm in letting him follow her around. But, when Kayla, who'd spent the last twenty minutes asking her own feet if they were getting hungry, showed her face, she was quite certain that there as no place at her side for her.

That hadn't stopped the girl from tailing her, of course.

"We need to keep moving, you two. Let's keep at it."

With that, she took the lead. Quentin leaned over to Kayla when their traveling buddy - Kayla's words, not his - once she was out of earshot.

"Her scarf is different than ours, my comrade. I think that's a cause for concern."

It was true. The scarf that Emma had tied around her head was embroidered with a raven. It seemed much more menacing then the golden bird that lay on their scarves. But, then again, that matched Emma perfectly.

"I noticed. We need to keep an eye on her, the sidewalk told me so." Kayla answered, her eyes darting back and forth in suspicion.

* * *

In what appeared to be a high-rise district with dingy, stained-glass windows, three other youths were having their own difficulties. One was a young man in a purple turtleneck, jauntily swinging his hips as he strutted like a peacock, and the other was a black-haired man with a perpetually twitching brow. Bringing up the rear, humming a tuneless sea-shanty to himself, was a brunette male who'd tied his scarf around his mouth like a highwayman.

"So, do you guys have a secret handshake or something," asked Mark Young through his scarf, cocking his head for the eighth time.

"Of course! Didn't you know: all gay people have a secret way of greeting one another, mi querido idiota." Roberto, the hispanic, answered idly as he primped his pompadour tresses in a nearby shop window.

"Will you two please knock it off,"Aaron demanded angrily, "Mark, gay people aren't any different biologically. Roberto, stop feeding him lies."

"Can I feed him something else?"

Aaron chose to ignore that remark and tried to mask the look of disgust that spread across his face.

"Let's just try to keep moving inward. We need to make it to the center of the city, it doesn't seem logical that the darkness would swallow that."

"I think we should move faster. Roberto, how quickly can gay people run?"

"Mark! That's it, you aren't allowed to talk for ten minutes. Starting... now."

Aaron pretended to tap a make-believe wristwatch in Mark's direction, which seemed to have a profound effect on the boy, as though someone had actually sewn his jaws together. Roberto rolled his eyes at the boy and his little eggshell world "Truly, it makes no difference to me."

Aaron shrugged, "I kinda just wanted to see if he'd do it."

The two exchanged a small laugh, Mark tried to join in through his suddenly-sealed lips.

* * *

"I could've taken another bow, they loved me!"

"Charlotte, my friend, those people had no idea what you were doing. That wasn't even dancing, you were just waving your hands around like you'd been electrocuted."

At that insult, Charlotte gave an indignant huff. How dare this Orion King, with his charming, facaded smile, criticize her dancing? She was a seasoned professional, for heaven's sake!

"He's right, Charlotte. How were we to know that those people weren't about to stab you or something?" Louisa Conrad quipped from the side, pushing her bottlebrush hair behind her eyes. How Charlotte wished to argue with her, but the vice-principal-esque glower on the girl's face instructed her otherwise,

Orion rolled his eyes at the two hens as they clucked incessantly. How he managed to end up with the two of them, he'd never know. Honestly, he wasn't sure he did know. The first thing he remembered was walking alongside them and nothing else.

Still, for now, it was not in his best interest to complain. Now was the time to gain... support.

"I'm sorry, Charlotte" he groused at her softly, his voice akin to a cat's purr. "I simply meant that your obvious talent shouldn't be wasted on an audience that didn't appreciate it."

Charlotte returned his banter with a coy cut of her eyes, a small smile tugging at the edges of her rose-tinted lips.

Louisa pretended to gag at them both.

* * *

**Location: Unknown**

**Date and Time: Day 1, 49 minutes PA, **

Kyle Enoc and Alice Perimoch stood with shoulders cocked as they monitored they're new friends as they wandered their gilded prison.

"They're on their way to the center, should we notify Cielo?" Alice asked, her fingers toying with the white silk of her new scarf. Kyle smirked ever so slightly in the darkness before lifting a communication device to his narrow lips.

"Agent, keep an eye on the Familiars until Cassandra tells you otherwise. We have _guests_ to entertain."

A graveled voice on the other end replied with a scratchy "Affirmative".

"They're all almost there."The scarves should start reacting to each other soon."

Kyle nodded, "Good. Go ahead and notify him, then."

Alice nodded back before taking up the microphone at her side, "Cielo, you're live in three... two..."

* * *

_Epsael. Epsael! Where are you? Epsael?_


	5. Unexpected and Most Unwelcome

Uh... Hello, everyone!

This is Likes it Luxe, I'm Obsidios's on-site beta-reader and off-the-clock little brother.

Now, I know what you're thinking and the answer is 'no', we are not discontinuing the story as of yet.

A few days ago, my brother contracted what we believed was an aggressive form of stomach flu that ended up landing him in the hospital. Over the next few days, fever progressed and they'll have to keep him for the next few days until they find out what's wrong with him. As if right now, he's in the ICU, though the doctors assure us that his life isn't in any danger. But I don't know, I don't trust doctors much.

He has no access to his page or _Overrealm _right now, and likely won't until he's released. As such, he has asked to inform you all of this development so nobody assumes he disappeared and abandoned everything.

So, until further notice, there will be no furthering of the story. We request your pardon and, if you're willing, your thoughts through this time.

We hope to see you soon.


	6. Under New Management

I've had to rewrite this multiple times because it hurts so much.

Everyone, this is Likes it Luxe. From here onwards, I will be taking over this story under Obsidios's account.

Yesterday, on the first of February, my big brother went into a coma, and they're not sure when, or if, he'll wake up. I considered deleting this story, as well as he account, but I felt that it would be disrespectful to him and to all of you.

So, in my brother's absence, I'me taking up his torch. Part of me, the part that he taught to play piano and to write music, wants more than anything to believe that my brother's not lost, that he'll wake up soon.

I need you all to bear with me for just a bit longer, because he was hospitalized before he completed the next chapter. I'll have to root through his notes to find your character profiles and the interactions he had planned.

But rest assured, I WILL get this done. I'm writing for two now, after all.

Don't give up on us, Children, the Overrealm will return someday soon.


End file.
